Soldiers  Wounded Down to the Bone
by Etzuko
Summary: We were soldiers on a battlefield – and then the rules made us into a two-person army. An army of star-crossed lovers. Was the act of false love something so dreadful it was unforgivable, all lies or just exaggerations? Or was it even understandable...


**Soldiers – Wounded down to the bone.**

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><p><em>Dear reader of this fanfiction, may the odds be ever in your favour, Spoiler Alert for 'The Hunger Games' hereby disclaimed. <em>

_I have, while writing only read the very first book of the trilogy and watched the movie, and have no spoilers whatsoever regarding the following two books. Thus I can write this fanfiction in this particular mentality. If I had read the entire series my point of view would be different and I would therefore not be able to reflect on this particular scene in this manner. The situation is from Peeta's perspective after Katniss have broken the truth to him on the train, inside his room during the days they did not see each other._

_Inspiration and lyrics by Ulrik Munther 'Soldiers'. I suggest listening to the song before or after, to get the mentality I was aiming for._

_Characters owned and made up by Suzanne Collins._

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><p>Coached. The train shook slightly as it raced down the track. Coached to care for me. I slumped down in the edge of the lavishly decorated bed, forcing myself to breathe evenly. The rocks in the arena would have been just as comfortable. Every bit of me hurt. My entire existence hurt, as I try to remember the exact conversation. Coached to act as if she loved me. Pretending to have feelings for me to charm the Capitol audience for the sponsorships. Essential sponsorships, which did save her, and my, life but right now my mind is too close to the edge of breaking down for me to reflect upon those matters. And when you can't reflect on what kept you alive, you know it's bad.<p>

If you want know, she wounded me. She wounded me down to the bone. Not in the way Cato did in the arena with his sword, no damage of the flesh. Neither of us has hurt each other in that manner, not considering the push into the pieces of ceramic that had cut my hands the evening before the games began. That was more than a lifetime ago. But my entire being, my very bones are paining me. I rest my elbows on my knees, both the artificial and the real one, and press my head into my hands. A little bit, just the smallest, most hopeful part of me, somewhere deep down knows that everything was not a fraud. She said so herself, "not all of it". Then what? Which parts? But I knew she didn't want to fight about it. She was confused. That is the only comfort my hopeful part can cling onto, that the confusion in some way could possibly be in my favour. But it seems the odds of that were against me. And I didn't want to fight about it either. I couldn't have kept the mask, pretended that her words hadn't killed me. I know she saw my pain. She must have seen it, because I saw hers. Never once in the arena I saw her look so pained. And I know we both had more than plenty of awful memories from that death cage. But that's not the reason I forgive her. I would forgive her for anything. She drugged me and risked her life for me, even if I begged her not to. If she had died out there I would never have forgiven myself.

We had to think like soldiers, I try to convince myself. We were soldiers; the arena had been our battlefield. We were indeed soldiers, but when the rules had changed we had became an army of two. An army of star-crossed lovers, as they would say in the Capitol. Liquid hits my arm and my hand immediately find its way up and feel for a wound, my eyes darting across the empty room. My vision is blurry, where did they hit from? Katniss said they weren't too happy about our stunt, which in fact had not been a stunt for me at all since I had been ready to die there with her. But did they decide to kill us on the way back? It didn't make sense; they had to show the winners returning on the screens. It wasn't until I looked at my arm I realized it wasn't blood but water that had hit me. Tears. It gradually had dawned to me that I would never really be free from the paranoia created in the arena. There was no victor in the hunger games. Only losers; the ones that lost their lives lost everything, the one who won lost their sanity. I could somewhat understand why Haymitch decided to stay drunk.

I slid down from the bed to the thick carpet, hugging my knees close to me as I break down. She had at least not apologized to me. If she had said sorry I would have died. Nothing I did was acting or pretending – the first interview, the strategies and choices I made in the arena, every word I said was honest and from the core of my heart. That is why her truth was hurting so. Her whole truth would have been hurting too much to say to me. What if it isn't confusion, and it is only out of consideration for me she replied in such a way? As if there could be a love but she was still unsure of her own emotions?

So much I love her. I love her with everything I got and everything I will ever have, ever and always. Why couldn't she see that? Why can't she simply feel the same, after all we've been through together? If she didn't love me now, why would she ever? The sting of her bitter lies only hurt worse as my train of thoughts rumble through my head. I breathe a stutter, I had forgotten to use my lungs for a few moments, but the new air only increased my sharp pain. I threw my focus into the breathing, which helped me force my mind to go blank for a few hours.

I realize slowly that the bitter lies had saved our lives. I had survived because she had wanted me to. And because she had done everything it her power to keep me alive. She had risked her life at the feast, she had risked her life trying to find me after the false change of rules because she knew I was hurt, and the only time she could survive without risking her life was when she had to act as if she loved me. While she saved me the others died. Because of her acting and, because I must give myself some credit before I fall in complete despair, my genuine care we got sponsorship enough to live on while the other died out there. In one way that milder the pain, that even a fake love of ours was enough to live on when the others got killed. I freeze up. No. I didn't want them to die. Of course I didn't want anyone to die in the arena. Every distant cannon shot was a horror, since it meant a lost life. But due to the nature of the arena every cannon shot was a relief – one less that could kill you. However, at first none of the shots were bringing me any calm whatsoever. Every single boom could mean that she had died. And I know that she had been thinking the same in the beginning at least, before she knew my alliance with the careers. As she said, not all of it was an act. But that part was mine. The only lies I ever told was during my days with the careers, and only to protect her. And to some extent myself, I won't deny that, but with me dead I wouldn't have been of much help either. I was ready to fight all the way to the finale and then die by her hands. That's how desperately I wanted her to live, and how much I wanted her to have me as a good memory. But I guess you can't have good memories about someone you killed. They'd better fall into oblivion.

During the rest of the trip I keep thinking about the bigger picture, and it actually help me to find structure in her lies and in her confusion, and what had been real and not. With a few hours left until arrival I pick myself up from the floor and make myself look decent. I forgive her, regardless of what will happen when we return to district 12. Because I must forgive her. If the little friendship and feelings we have now is all that is left, I must forgive her for the false kisses until either I can somehow accept that she'll only be a good friend one day in the future, or until she can kiss me without pretending. Until she is as desperately in love with me as I am. There cannot be another, there will never be, not for me. It is her or no one. But to move on to either stage I must face her today. And keep facing her. As I was a soldier facing death in the arena, I must now be a soldier facing the pain and the harsh reality outside it. The worst is that we must keep up appearances of being lovers in front of the cameras. I can do this. I can.

And I honestly do believe I can fake it well enough. I believe so until the first second I see her. My heart goes hollow. My wounds she caused are ripped open again. I'm just an empty shell when I look at her. Slowly I step forward until we are close enough to touch each other. All I want to do is hearing her taking back what she said yesterday. She doesn't. But I forgive her. Because I must. Because I can't lose her. I extend my hand towards her as we roll into the station.

"One more time? For the audience?" I can tell my voice isn't what she wished it to be. She holds my hand tightly. As if I'm slipping away. I one way, I am, because I don't allow myself to think that this might be the last time we ever touch. I also know it will be equally hard every time I see her, remember the time in the cave and the pain when I think of how easily I believed that she felt the same. But I'm not leaving her. No matter how much she has wounded me. I will forgive her.


End file.
